by L A Pepper
And then she whirled around and was already at the door. “Very nice to meet you Mrs. Boucher. I apologize for interrupting. I should have called first.” The door snicked shut and I stared.
My mother scoffed. “I didn’t raise a stupid son,” she said. “Whatever you just did right there, you’d best go after her and apologize.”
“Dammit.” My mother was right. I pushed off from the desk and ran after Alex, catching her in the hall before reception. I grabbed her wrist and turned her around to face me. There were definitely tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Alex. I didn’t mean to do that.” I held her face in my hands and wiped the teardrops away with my thumbs.
“Mean to do what? Be surprised that I barged into your office? Tell your mother I was the coffee girl? I mean. It’s what I am, right? Just the coffee girl. And I bring you coffee and we make out, right?”
I ignored Mira staring down the hall at us with her bright, curious black eyes, and held Alex’s arms. “You’re more than that to me and you know it. I want you to be.” I inclined my head into hers and spoke quietly. This was a clinic. There were doctors and nurses and patients and nosy receptionists. But if this was the only place I was going to get to talk to her, I needed to talk to her here. “I was afraid you were coming to tell me you wouldn’t meet me tonight. I thought you were rejecting me. I acted like a jerk.”
She shook her head and let her head drop on my shoulder, just for a minute. “No, you didn’t. You were right the whole time. I’m the one who’s been holding you off. I’m the one who is putting boundaries on our relationship, afraid to get too close to you. I’m just the coffee girl, and we’re just hanging out. You shouldn’t introduce me to your mother as if I’m your girlfriend because I’m not.” She choked and swallowed hard. “But I want to be.”
I flexed my fingers against her arms, and she let her hands slip to my waist. “You do?”
She nodded. “I didn’t come to bring you coffee, Jordan. That was an excuse. You’re right, you actually drink too much coffee, it’s not good for you. I came to tell you that I’ll see you tonight. At your place.”
I let out a breath of relief that I possibly might have been holding onto all day since I’d given her that stupid ultimatum. “You’re not breaking up with me?”
She bit her lip and shook her head.
“Thank god.”
I couldn’t help but laugh and kiss her.
“Jordan!” she said, shocked. The blush back on her face. I loved that blush, the way it made her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkle. “You’re at work, Dr. Bellamy!” she scolded.
“And you’re my girlfriend, Alex. Doctors are allowed to have girlfriends. Right, Mira?” I asked without looking down the hall to see the receptionist who I knew without a doubt was watching and listening.
“Right, Dr. Bellamy. Plus we already knew Alex was your girlfriend. We’ve been talking about it for weeks.”
Alex covered her face with hands. I kissed the top of her head. “Go back to work, sweetheart. I’ll see you tonight.”
She dropped her hands and let out a calming breath and grinned at me. “All right. You go face your mother. I don’t think she bought the coffee girl line either.”
“She definitely didn’t. I guess this relationship is moving forward. You met my mother and you weren’t scared off.”
“It takes more than that to scare me. I liked her, actually. She’s beautiful. And determined.”
“You have no idea,” I said. That was an understatement. “I’m glad you agreed to come over, Alex.” She sparkled. Everything about her sparkled and I wanted to tell her I loved her, but this wasn’t the right time. Not yet. “Until tonight.” I winked at her and she blushed even deeper red.
When I went back into my office my mother was waiting.
Chapter Nine: Alex
I maintained the appearance of calm as I walked out of the clinic. I said goodbye to Mira, who grinned a wide, white smile at me as I left. I concentrated on breathing in and out as I walked down the street and into the coffee shop.
“Hey, Alex,” said the scrawny guy with a goatee who had been trying to find out if I was dating Jordan since I started there. “How’s the marketing going?”
“It’s great but I’m in the middle of something, I’ll talk to you later.” Agent Long had given me some surveys and someone somewhere was maintaining a social media presence for the cafe to explain my hours in the basement on the computer. All I had to do was avoid getting too close to guys on staff who wanted to date me and I could keep my cover. Luckily, I was a professional at that.
I made my way down to the basement, and it was on the stairs where I started to lose it.
I fumbled with the keys and got myself into the storeroom where I could let myself cry without witnesses. I’d almost lost it right there in Jordan’s office when he introduced me to his mother as the coffee girl.
It was shameful. This was a job. I knew what I was there for, so why was I heartbroken when I was just the coffee girl? Even worse, why was I heartbroken when what I really was was the lying spying girl?
I wrapped my arms around myself and found myself wishing they were Jordan’s arms holding me. Because I wanted him. He made me feel better.
And then the tears really started coming. I collapsed into my chair and sobbed. I was falling in love with Jordan. I loved him. And I was spying on him.
They were never going to hire me at the FBI now. Or maybe Jordan would never want to be with me. I felt divided down the middle. How could I have gotten into this predicament? How could I have fallen in love with the subject of my investigation? I was a terrible person and a terrible agent. For the whole month it had been going on, I’d tried to keep my distance while staying close enough to find the information I needed.
I’d found nothing tying Jordan to his father’s criminal activity. I truly didn’t believe he was involved. Instead, I’d just discovered a man who made me smile and feel safe and cared about what I thought, and was really interesting and funny and loved kids and was kind and gentle and oh my god he was the sexiest man I’d ever met and I’d been restraining myself from stripping him naked in an office with cartoon figures on the walls.
And now.
I’d planted a listening device under his desk, so I could hear him and his mother talk, and possibly reveal incriminating evidence. I was nearly dizzy with emotion, with dread, with love.
And I turned on my computer to pick up the signal and pressed play.
I skimmed through a minute or so of the time that I’d been there.
“So that’s the coffee girl,” Mrs. Boucher said. She sounded amused.
“Mom, don’t start.”
“She must make some fabulous coffee.”
“Seriously.”
“Is she the one who’s going to be giving me grandchildren?”
I choked on nothing just listening. Thank goodness I hadn’t been there when she said that.
“Mom, you’re going way too fast here. She’s a single mom. We’re taking it slow.”
“Oh. So you really like her? This isn’t just a fling? I was just teasing before. She might really be the one to give me grandchildren. She’s very cute.”
“You have got to stop. You’re obsessed with me giving you grandchildren.”
“Yes. I have been quite clear about this. I wanted you home. I wanted you in a nice career as a doctor. I want you to get married and have children. I get what I want. This is the next step. She’s had one already. That means she’s proven fertile. More babies are coming.”
“No. It means we keep it light until we want to take it further. But we have to be very thoughtful about moving to the next step.”
A startled gasp sang out on the recording device.
“What? What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Jordan Bellamy Boucher. She already has a child. Oh my. Hand me a tissue, I am going to cry for joy.”
“Mom, you’re being melodramatic.”
“Jordan. Girl or boy
? How old is my grandchild?”
I put a hand to my chest in shock.
“You do NOT have a grandchild. Alex has a nine-year-old daughter. We are not serious yet. She’s not my child. You have to stop.”
“Yet.” Sonia Boucher did not sound melodramatic suddenly. She sounded driven. She wanted my daughter to be her grandchild. My mouth went dry. “You’ve met her though.”
“I–” I knew Jordan didn’t want to tell her he had, but he didn’t seem to be able to keep anything back from his mother. He was an essentially honest person. A good man. I hated that he was in the middle of any of this. But only part of it was my fault. “I met her. She came in as a patient. But she doesn’t know I’m dating her mother. No one knew we were dating until you, mother. Until right now.”
“Nine years old. I would like to take her to have tea and pastries.”
“No. Mother. No. We aren’t there. And there’s no guarantee we ever will be there.”
“You know, I was a waitress when your father met me.”
“Your parents owned a fine french restaurant, that’s not the same thing. And it’s not relevant.”
“And I waited tables there. There’s nothing wrong with working in the food-service industry. I think you should snap this girl up.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“Jordan, darling. I know you. And I know how much you like her. And I have a feeling about her. She’s going to give me beautiful grandbabies.”
He snorted. “You’ve got a one-track mind.” He didn’t sound nearly as upset with her as he should have been. Oh, Jordan. My heart clenched.
His mother began to laugh but was interrupted by the intercom, Mira’s voice coming through the wire was tinny and sharp.
“Dr. Bellamy, Mr. Boucher is on his way in.”
I scrambled for a notepad. Boucher.
I never thought he’d be there. Jordan hated him. I’d meant this to record any information Mrs. Boucher had on what her husband was doing. Or get evidence of Jordan’s innocence. Instead, I was getting the husband himself. Boucher. I remembered the dark, cold way he’d looked at me that day in the café. I was his type. But he wasn’t mine. He was the villain in this story. He was who we needed to stop before Jordan was hurt any more. He hated his father, and Mrs. Boucher was furious with him, and now here he was. Truth could come out in conflict.
“Mom,” Jordan said sharply. “Did you arrange this? Did you arrange a meeting between us? You know I’m not talking to him. He’s gone too far. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“Yes, well, no one wants to talk to him, but unfortunately sometimes we have to deal with him. I’ve learned it’s best to grin and bear it and get it over with until he gets what he wants and moves on to some other trollop. Or obsession.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t worry, he’s merely come to pick me up for this society meeting we need to attend. It’s all appearances but we must put on the show. If I could have avoided it I would have.”
The wire picked up the sound of the door opening and closing. Long moments of silence passed. “I am so pleased to be back in the bosom of my family,” a deep voice said, sardonic. Cold. He did not sound familial at all. “Jordan. You’ve been avoiding me. We were not done with our conversation. This must be resolved.”
“Oh yes, we were, Dad. It’s resolved. I said no. And I don’t appreciate you using Mom to force me to agree to your plans.”
“This was the only way I could be sure I’d get the chance to speak with you. Have you considered my offer?” Jordan’s voice and his father’s were similar, but even with his anger evident, Jordan couldn’t hide his warmth, while Regis Boucher was cold, sharp and heartless.
“I considered it and my answer remains the same. You may not incorporate The Good Friend Foundation under the umbrella of your pharmaceutical company. I want to have nothing to do with your business, and your business will stay out of my business.”
“My business pays for your life, you ungrateful prig.”
Jordan laughed unhappily. “Is that why you’re using Mom to get to see me? Do you think somehow having her presence here will make me give in?”
“He wouldn’t ever,” Sonia said cooly. “He knows I want you to be left out of it. You’ve taken my other children, Regis, you can’t have Jordan. He’s a doctor. Let him be his own man. Let him go.”
“You both disappoint me greatly. You have no family loyalty. Jordan, take your mother to the limo. I have to make a business phone call before I leave, and I’d like some privacy.”
“Do you ever get tired of telling people what to do, Dad?”
Sonia let out an exasperated sigh. “There’s no point in arguing with him when he’s like this. He won’t bend. He thinks he’s right despite being utterly in the wrong. Come, Jordan, walk me to the car. We can say goodbye like civilized people and then we’ll have to spend less time in his company.”
The door opened and closed again. No one said goodbye, civilized or otherwise. Silence stretched. There was the sound of shifting, so someone was still there. Mr. Regis Boucher needed to make a business phone call? This could be interesting. I shoved aside the revelations of Jordan and his mother’s conversation.
There was silence for a minute and some rustling. I waited. Finally, it began.
“I’m in,” he said. His voice was still cold and deep, but the edge of anger was gone. It seemed Jordan was right. He thought of his family as enemies. I resisted the feelings of resentment at that thought, my anger at what he’d done to Jordan. I needed to focus on the matter at hand, like Boucher. He was nothing but purpose. After a moment, I heard: “The keylogger is installed. Check to make sure it’s reading on your end.” I heard a few keystrokes. “How about now?” a few more keystrokes. There was a pause and then his cold laughter. “Good, you’re picking it up. All we have to do now is wait until he logs back on to finalize those foundation assignments and we’ll have access to all his passwords and plans.
“Before he even realizes we’re into the “Good Friend” Foundation, distribution will have come and gone through his organization and he’ll be so deep into it he won’t be able to back out or report us without incriminating himself.” He laughed into the phone and I realized something. He hated his son. It was more than just familial enmity. It was personal. “If he would just come to recognize that my plans are what’s best for the family, for him, I wouldn’t have to force his hand like this. He’s too much like his mother.” The laughter stilled as he listened to the other end of the phone call. “True, he’s not as gullible as she is, he wasn’t about to let me get my hands on a cozy shelter like his good deed club, luckily we were able to work around him– what do you mean she’s not so gullible anymore?”
I didn’t like the silence. Even over the listening device, it felt sinister. “So that’s why she’s been such a shrew lately… And what does she think she’s going to do with an investigation into my fidelity? It’s not like this is a new thing. I haven’t changed. She’s the one that’s changed. So what if I have mistresses? She’s not going to divorce me over it. She would never give up the life I have given her… I don’t care what I signed. That was forty years ago… No. Unacceptable. No… That will not happen. This is the final straw. I won’t have that woman manipulating my life anymore. That’s it. Make the call we discussed… You know what call. Put out the hit. I think it’s time I become a widower.”
There was a bit of shuffling, then the sound of the door opening and closing. And it was over. I turned the computer off and sat back in my chair.
Jordan was innocent. His father was not. His mother was in danger. Was this enough to catch Boucher? I dialed Agent Long’s number.
* * *
It wasn’t enough. Neither enough to prove Regis Boucher’s guilt nor to prove Jordan’s innocence. I should have known. This wasn’t over.
I had to put aside my feelings for Jordan and continue with the investigation. My heart was unimportant to this matter, and neither was his. I
hated it, but I had to continue with my assignment. I had to keep Jordan close. And I couldn’t hold him off any longer, or I would lose him. And because it wasn’t just about my feelings…or his feelings, but about issues of global importance, losing him meant people dying.
So it was time for me to put the thing I had been holding back at risk. My heart. His, too. I got ready for our date with an odd mixture of dread and desperate anticipation.
It hadn’t been hard at all to get Abuela to watch Trini for the night; they adored spending time together. I’d known it never would have been a problem, I was just saying I couldn’t to avoid being alone with Jordan, because I knew if I gave myself half a chance, I would fall in love with him. He was right about that. Unfortunately.
But it was too late now. I’d put myself on this doomed path without realizing where it would lead. And now I had to pull him closer to keep from letting him get away, because I didn’t have the information I needed. I needed to prove his innocence, so they could never drag him into whatever his father was doing. His father was an evil man, and the FBI didn’t care about Jordan at all, only about getting the Bouchers. I was the only one who cared about protecting Jordan in this investigation, and I’d do whatever I’d have to in order to do that.
I went to the store and bought a new outfit, one for the role I was going to play, not myself, not Alex. Alex had ruined everything by feeling too much. And certainly not Alexandra, who was chic and classy and always in control. No. I needed a new persona, someone light and easygoing, young like I’d never gotten the chance to be. Someone who had no worries, no responsibilities and no weight on her shoulders. Someone who could date a man like Jordan and not fall in love. Allie. I practiced laughing in her voice. High and free. Fake.
I wore a flippy little skirt and a silky little top with just a few spangles along the neckline and platform sandals. I wore my hair loose and let it curl naturally, and tossed a peach pashmina scarf over my shoulders. My eyeshadow shimmered, nothing too made up. I added a pink gloss. Everything was intended to help me present joy, happiness, freedom. An optimism that I wasn’t feeling. I checked out the whole effect in the mirrored elevator as I rode up to meet him. My cheeks were flushed, and it wasn’t makeup. It was me.